


Wicked Games

by perhapsless



Category: In the Bleak Midwinter (Webcomic)
Genre: F/M, also i think delta is probably like. super into anya, but their chemistry? ridiculous, cockblocker, god damn it omega, it's a damn shame, probably not at all canon-compliant, they'd just have such good sex, this whole soul mate fuckery, would totally tap that AND romance that if he didn't care about his brother so much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:55:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29305335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perhapsless/pseuds/perhapsless
Summary: Omega and Ivan are still missing. Anya is stressed, and tired, and she just wants a quick release and to sleep it off. Delta has other plans.
Relationships: Anya/Delta, mention of Anya/Omega really
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13





	Wicked Games

  
  


It’s not that she’s exactly in the mood, but more that she desperately, desperately needs to let off steam. 

It’s been so tense at the base, searching tirelessly for Omega and Ivan. Every moment they seem to draw closer, they slip away, ever elusive, and it’s keeping both her and Delta on edge. 

Other things are keeping them on edge, too.

She and Delta, impossibly, have drawn closer together. Maybe it’s the connection they share through Omega, their frenzied need to find him. Maybe it’s the anxiety and fear of it, of being the only two in the world that truly understand the times they’re living in. Maybe it’s the loneliness that seems entrenched in both of them.

He’s a villain, but she’s no saint, either, she can throw it right back. They trade barbs over dinner and strategies over tea, and she’s not sure what their relationship is except that it’s evolving and possibly important.

But there’s another side to it that she doesn’t know what to do with, except what she’s currently doing. 

Maybe it’s as simple as him being very good looking, objectively, and that she happens to like the look in his eye when he catches sight of her coming out of the pouring rain. She’s soaked, her shirt clinging to her form, and she feels rather than sees his eyes slowly paw her over. It makes her feel like prey.

And she likes feeling hunted. 

Still, it’s not without guilt. She knows whatever she feels about Delta, it’s entirely unrelated to the physical appeal of him, knows her feelings are certainly not headed down that path, even if her body is. It’s her soulmate’s  _ brother,  _ and isn’t it enough for her to be tied to one man and develop feelings for another? Does she need to be wanted by one more?

_ Greedy little thin _ g, he’d called her once, something he’d never explained,  _ but not without reason. _

She sighs as her fingers trace between her thighs, her core already wetting at the memory. It’s just stress relief, she thinks, a clinical expression of endorphins.

In her mind’s eye, she remembers the way he looked at her, how he’d briefly caught his bottom lip between his teeth, how her nipples had pebbled through her shirt when she realized. 

_ He steps forward, brushing her hair from her eyes, leans down and whispers  _ Really, Anya, you’re playing with fire. 

She whimpers a little at the thought, her finger tracing over her clit. She just likes being wanted, likes that his eyes linger just a little too long on her ass sometimes, likes that he hovers just over his shoulder, fully aware that he’s too close, just to see her shudder, likes that the tension between them is  _ very  _ heavily tilted from him. 

God, maybe she just wants to be fucked so  _ badly,  _ she’s not sure she cares who does it. Suddenly, she’s less interested in getting this over with, her fingers slowing as she savors it, the feel of her strokes traveling her slit. His fingers would probably be much better, she thinks, those long, slender hands, the veins prominent on his strong forearms- 

Or perhaps his tongue, that devilish little smirk disappearing as he presses his mouth to her. She moans softly at the thought, finally giving in to the fantasy as she arches her back, the ache in her core slowly spreading her open- 

And then she hears a quiet knock at the door. 

Immediately, she draws her fingers from her. They’re soaked, the scent of sex strong in the air, and she winces when she hears the voice, low and smooth and just a little taunting.

“Might I come in?” 

Fuck. How does he  _ know?  _ Is he programmed with some deepweb ability to know how to be the most irritating thing on base at all times?

She forces her voice to be indifferent, but still, there’s a breathiness to it she  _ knows  _ he’ll notice. She wipers her fingers in the sheets, cursing everything, cursing the aching emptiness between her thighs that only grew stronger at his voice. “Um… sure?” 

He slinks in, languid, stalking, almost. The door shuts behind him with a subtle  _ click  _ as he enters, the faint lights through the curtains casting his face in shadow. He’s wearing a simple night shirt, dark and half unbuttoned, the pale planes of chest visible, and she swallows.

He catches it. Of course. A smirk teases his lips, cold and catlike, and he sinks down beside her on the side of her bed. 

“At first, I thought you distressed,” he murmurs, “But the scent of you is particularly thick.” 

“Can we not have a normal conversation?” She complains, keeping her gaze on his fingers and trying desperately not to think of how much she wants them inside her. How to keep her heart at bay? Kittens. Flowers. Drowning.  _ Something. _

  
  


He chuckles, his hand darting to grab hers, and before she can process it, he’s lifting the fingers that she  _ knows  _ still bear her wetness to his lips.

The eye contact he makes shakes her down to her core, and she’s powerless to move, speak, anything but watch as he licks her, his eyelids lowering slightly. “Oh, Anya,” he says, his voice rougher, now, and she knows,  _ knows  _ that they’re both about to do something very, very stupid. “I don’t think either of us expect to have a  _ normal  _ conversation tonight.” 

His other hand moves to her lips, the thumb seeking entrance and she complies, her gaze unwavering, the wetness absolutely pooling into her panties. 

“Wanton little thing,” and he’s letting go of her hand, turning towards her, taking hold of her throat. She finds herself slowly reclining as he moves over her, a whimper escaping her lips as his thumb traces over her pulse. “How long have you been thinking of me?”

“Bold,” she fires back, unwilling to give him the satisfaction but desperately,  _ desperately  _ needs him to give it to her. “You’re present, not the star of the show.” 

She feels his laugh echo in his chest, pressing into her as his fingers slowly trace under her shirt, lingering around her hardened teat. And she’s decidedly  _ not laughing  _ as she arches into his touch, and decided  _ not laughing  _ when his mouth replaces his hand at her throat. He sucks softly and the wind leaves her lungs, and quietly,  _ embarrassingly _ , a moan leaves her lips. 

“Hmmm,” and he forces her chin to look at him, his eyes boring into hers. “Did you know that you talk in your sleep, Anya? It’s been fascinating.” 

Heat spreads across her cheeks as that sets in, then her whole body. Fuuuuuck. And then she quickly fills that with anger, her gaze turning fiery. “You’ve been listening? You fucking-” 

And he seems  _ delighted  _ that she’s fighting back, doesn’t seem even remotely bothered by the string of profanity about to leave her mouth. He captures her lips in a searing kiss, his tongue opening her up and he’s kissing her  _ deep,  _ and the fight almost entirely leaves her. “Do you know,” he breathes into her mouth, “How hard it’s been to avoid coming in here and fucking you until you lose your mind?” 

He punctuates the statement with a pinch to her nipple, and she whimpers, and the grin on his lips turns  _ deadly.  _ “There are few things I want that I can’t have, Anya,” he continues, and he tangles his hand into her hair, pulling it back, exposing her throat. “And perhaps I cannot have you fully, but I can certainly keep you well fucked for the time being.” His teeth graze against her throat, his lower half strategically sinking against her, pinning her down, and she knows he’s not going to leave until she comes. 

She means to push him away, really she does, but he draws back and fixes her with a look that pins her down as eloquently as if it had been his own hands. “Undress. Now.” 

And she’s  _ tempted,  _ she knows, always has, that they would have incomparably good sex. And he’s just her type of drink, forceful and dominating and  _ wanting  _ and she’s exactly the amount of fire and submissiveness that he’s after. There’s an undeniable chemistry between them that she can’t argue with, but she’s promised to another, and there are some lines she just won’t cross.

Other lines, though, are already blurred.

“You’re not fucking me tonight,” she says simply, and he raises an eyebrow, clearly displeased. “I’m not yours.” 

“No,” he agrees, “but bodies and souls are two different things, Anya. And,” and he stops, palms her over her shorts as she groans, “You want it.” 

There’s no point in lying, but she’s not going to give in on this point. “Doesn’t matter.” 

Beat.

“You can touch me,” she breathes, as his lips return to her throat. “You can look, you can touch. That’s it.” 

He considers, then nods once, and she knows this is far from over, that he’s going to chase after her and she’s going to  _ like _ it. “For now,” he says doubtfully. “But my point stands.” 

His hand clenches around her throat as her body arches into him, and she feels his length sink against her thigh. His eyes are blazing, a finger reaching into the band of her shorts. “Undress.” 

She doesn’t hesitate, slinks out of her camisole and shorts as he watches her. Recording, she realizes too late, and a soft pink spreads across her cheeks. 

“You’ve forgotten something,” he says, and she slides her panties down as well, flinging them over the bed. His eyes move hungrily down her body, tracing over her breasts, her waist, settling in the crease between her thighs. 

He makes a single grunt of displeasure, his gaze returning to hers, and what she sees there slowly undoes something in her. She almost doesn’t have to be told, slowly opening her legs for him just as he hisses “ _ Fucking spread.”  _

And then her wrists are pinned over her head, stretching her naked body entirely out for him as his free hand cups her breast, kneading the nipples, pinching, rolling. His mouth is on hers again, his tongue clever and devilish against hers, alternating slow licks and forceful probes. 

She moans into his mouth as her pussy grazes his thigh, and his grip on her wrist tightens. 

“You want me to touch you, don’t you?” His fingers are languidly tracing their way down to where she desperately needs them to be, torturously slow. “I can smell you from here. I wonder how wet you must be?”

She groans in frustration, she can feel herself pulsing painfully, urgently needing release. “Arrogant asshole.” He laughs in her ear, his fingers resting just a centimeter above her clit. 

“I have good reason to be. You want me far more than you’re willing to admit. Stubborn thing. I’ll make you work for it.” 

And then his fingers are dipping into her folds, and she feels him tense, and then-

And then he moans quietly into her throat, and the sound is fucking devastating. She could never have pictured him making that noise, let alone for  _ her,  _ and a small part of her is willing to give up, to let him fuck her until she can’t see straight.

The bigger part of her knows what she wants from him, though.

His fingers are tracing patterns up and down her slit, lingering just shy of her clit, teasing her opening, and she’s heating up for him, her breaths coming in short gasps. “You’re absolutely soaked,” he murmurs, “Look at you, mewling kitten. Shall I have a taste?” 

Tempting. “Look and touch,” she manages to get out. “That’s it.” 

“Hmm.” He’s annoyed. His fingers still, the entirety of his hand coming to rest against her, holding her folds, and she squirms against him. “Stop moving if you want me to continue,” he commands, and she stops almost immediately. 

The smirk makes a triumphant return to his face, and he ducks his head to pull her nipple between his teeth, sending bolts of heat across her body. As quickly as he bites her, he lets her go, and she yelps. 

“So the little wildcat is capable of listening. How encouraging. Can she speak as well?” 

Anya blinks at him, confused, and his lips curl. “You’re a grown woman, Anya,” he purrs, his fingers slowly stroking up her slit once more. “You’re old enough to ask for what you want.” 

He’s going to make her beg for it. He’s desperate for her, this she can figure out, but furious that she won’t give in, taking control in any way he can.

And she wants him so badly, furious in her own way that she can’t have it, so she lets him. 

“Touch me,” she whispers, her gaze firm and forceful on his. “ _ Please _ .” 

“Good girl.” And his fingers slip inside her, finally, spreading her slowly apart, his thumb grazing her clit. 

And she’s his good girl, just for tonight, her head is thrown back as he fingers her, his mouth on her teat and his other hand pinning her down. He keeps changing the tempo, sometimes pumping into her with three fingers, then two, sometimes slowly slipping out to drag lazily up her slit, circling her clit before flicking it. Her body is jerking in his arms, her hips rolling to whatever pace he sets, and she feels his mouth at her throat again, teeth grazing against her voicebox, her clavicle, her jaw. 

He’s prolonging it as much as he can, slowly guiding her to the edge and then sliding away, and she almost cries. “Please, Delta-” 

And he stops entirely, hovering over her, his eyes boring into hers. “Say that again.” 

“No.” 

He lightly pinches her clit, and the pain and pleasure well up in her so far she can barely breathe. His voice is commanding, and she knows he has her, knows that he’s entirely in control. “I said. Say. That. Again.” 

“Please.” 

“No, kitten,” and he nips at her ear, his hand still lightly ghosting over her slit. “You know what I want to hear. If you want to come, say it again.” 

And it’s too much, she can’t fight it anymore, and her body melts into his hands. “Delta,” she whispers, “ _ please _ .” 

And the slow, predatory grin spreading on his face is anything but good as he dives his fingers back into her again, as presses the rest of her body into the bed, as he traces along the ridges of her throat with his tongue. “That’s my good girl. Now…” 

And his fingers are picking up speed, finally, her hips rolling into him, her breaths escaping in little whimpers and moans-

He releases her wrists, wraps his hand tightly around her throat. 

“One day,” he says firmly, and she can barely focus on him, she’s so close, “I am going to pin you down in this very bed and you are going to  _ beg _ me to fuck you. And I will, and I will take me time doing it until you’re a whimpering, pathetic mess. Like this.” And his thumb is rolling over her clit, three fingers pulsing into her, and the tightness in her core is almost too much. 

“I may not have you tonight, but I will. And I’ll be much less patient with you, then.  _ Look at me  _ when I’m speaking to you, Anya, there’s a good girl.”

“Please,” she whispers pathetically, well past her limit. 

“Very well,” he says, satisfied, and she knows something has shifted now, at the back of her head, knows that she’s started a game of cat and mouse that she was never ready to play. “Come for me.” 

Hating herself, hating him, riding his hand, she does. 

\-------------

Delta leaves her room, feeling like he's about to explode, but also a satisfaction permeating every pore. 

What his brother doesn't know won't hurt him, he reasons, and besides, it's not as if he expects to steal her away.

But he can enjoy her for the time being, even if it's just physical.

Admittedly, the fire in her eyes is stirring something in him that's more than just his groin, but there's precious little to be done about that. For now, he's content to taste her on his fingers as he returns to his room.

There isn't much he wants that he can't have. She tastes all the sweeter for it.

**Author's Note:**

> THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A SHORT DRABBLE BUT ITS TOO LONG BC DELTA HITS TOO MANY CHORDS FOR ME
> 
> i just feel like anya and delta both know they'd have CRAZY good sex. he's an insane top. she LOVES being a bottom. it's just too much. it's a dangerous game, because anya's heart is always going to belong to another, and delta- at least in this verse- is going to want more than just pussy one day.
> 
> but he's a lot worse at self-control than he thinks he is. RIP, delta. anya just fucking up your whole life, huh?


End file.
